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A child of God was laid to rest
On a grassy knoll 'neath a tree,
A sturdy maple marked the place,
Where no other marker would be.
A child of the streets and back alleys,
Who learned early on not to cry,
Her sin in life - to be born,
Her destiny - to die.
No mother or father to claim her,
Pushed much too soon from the nest,
Taunted, unwanted, and haunted,
Tossed from one place to the next.
A pathetic, pitiful, little soul,
Who had one redeeming feature,
She could sing with the voice of an angel,
And no music was any sweeter.
Folks were so touched by her voice,
They dug deep in their pockets for change,
For pennies she'd sing her sweet songs,
And soothed many a saddend soul's pain.
Small she was, like a humming bird,
Whose movements were quick, but had grace,
Her voice rang out like a happy lark,
Though there was no smile on her face.
God, of course, was the source of her voice,
Folks called her God's Baby Bird,
She sang from the very depths of her soul,
The loveliest songs ever heard.
She roamed the streets of the city,
From sun-up past sun-down each night,
No one knew where she came from or went,
She was just in and out of folk's sight.
When agencies tried to snatch her,
She'd manage to fly away,
Not meant to be cornered or captured,
But be free to go on her way.
Though folks' doors were closed in the winter,
Her sad, plaintive tones oft came through,
And always on warm, summer nights,
Most folks in their beds heard her, too.
No matter how worried or harried one's day,
No matter how busy or rushed,
God's Baby Bird cheered folks on their way,
They stopped and they listened - they must.
The day that she died, the whole city cried,
Though no notice was made by the press,
But the city lay in silence that day,
In shock at Baby Bird's death.
Her plain, simple grave at the edge of town,
Was marked by a lone, maple tree,
Where many song birds had gathered,
To sing their soft eulogies.
Then God sent hosts of angels down,
In the form of more beautiful birds,
And they sang in heavenly harmony
A Requiem Mass most supurb.
God's Baby Bird for the first time smiled,
As she joined those angels on high,
Then wing-to-wing she flew off with them,
Seeking her home in the sky.
They say now in town, Baby Bird's still around,
For they hear her, when soft breezes blow,
Is she an angel ... or ... is she a bird?
Perhaps a little of each ... who knows?
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright June 2004 ~ January 2008